Repressed Memories
by Cryssy-miu
Summary: It's not uncommon to want to blot the past out in your mind if you've had a particular bad one, and what Emma remembers of her early childhood she never considered it to be very happy...except for one particular, and forgotten brief flicker of hope amidst the dark when she was only seven years old. R


Emma hated Mother's Day. To her it was simply a day designed to rub in the unvarnished truth that she didn't have parents, and that she probably never would. She was only seven years old, and yet she had already been juggled around more foster families than she could count.

"Emma dear, hurry up!" Mrs. Price, her teacher called. "You don't want to miss the special craft project today."

Biting at her lower lip, the young girl glared down at the ground with blazing, green eyes and fought to hold back the venomous tears. Yes, she did want to miss the craft project today. Words couldn't explain how much she hated being here right now. The only idea appealing to her at the moment was burrowing under her covers at home and never leaving her bedroom again.

Emma let a bunch of the kids push past her as they eagerly scampered into the classroom, chattering excitedly about the project they were about to do. Finally, as the final bell rang and the teacher shouted at her to hurry up, the child complied and stormed into the classroom.

Mrs. Price was tempted to scold her student on her behavior, but upon seeing the true look of pain behind that mask of anger, she thought better of it. Moving to her front desk, the teacher forced a smile at the two dozen pairs of blinking eyes. "Class, since its Mother's Day, we'll be making sculptures for our moms today!" She pulled out a few huge buckets of clay, which elected excited murmurs from the entire room (minus one dejected little girl).

"Everything goes as far as creativity, and there's plenty of clay, so you can all take as much as you like. The only rule I have is that the clay is for our projects and it's not to be lobbed around the class. There will be no stealing other's clay; there's plenty to go around."

Emma glared as Mrs. Price dropped a large gob of clay on each kid's desk. Some of her classmates asked for a specific color, while others just took what ever color was given to them. She narrowed her eyes hatefully as a pee-yellow blob was placed in the center of her desk. What was she even supposed to make with this, some kind of deformed banana?

The kids all exuberantly started on their projects. Seeing them all so happy made her feel sick to her stomach. Emma felt a pang in her chest when a girl began sculpting her mother and her in a messily constructed heart frame from her red clay.

Emma crossed her arms and whipped her head to the side. She sat like that for about a half hour, refusing to touch her clay. She felt the gentle tap on her shoulder from her teacher, but she didn't look up.

"Emma," Mrs. Price said softly. "Emma, I know it's hard for you to do this craft, but you should try to participate."

"Why?" she snapped, "I don't have a Mom! I don't have parents to give it to! Who am I gonna make it for?!" She bit down on her lip when she realized she had yelled at her teacher. She didn't want to yell, but her anger just got the best of her. Luckily, Mrs. Price didn't scold her on it.

"I know you don't, dear, but what about your new foster mother, Mrs. Addleman? I bet she'd appreciate it, and it could be a thank you for letting you stay with her."

"I don't want to make her anything," Emma said, "She's really mean. She doesn't care about me..."

Mrs. Price sighed and just gave up asking the child. She couldn't make her participate, and there really wasn't a point if Emma had no one to give her gift to. "Do you want to just draw a picture then?"

"No."

Mrs. Price pursed her lips and shook her head as Emma buried her face in her arms. "I'll leave the clay here if you change your mind." She walked back to the front of the room and sat down at her desk. Most of the children seemed to have already finished their projects and were showing them around the class.

"I made a dog, because my Mom loves dogs," Ella, a brown haired girl said. She proudly held up a brown lump of what could be some form of a dilapidated animal. "I can't wait to show it to her."

"I guess little Emma is gonna be left out in the dark," another student, Jimmy said snidely, "After all, she doesn't even have a Mom...or a Dad! Hey, Emma!" he called nastily back to the little girl, "Why don't you give your dumb gift to your baby blanket? It's the only thing that appreciates you!"

Green eyes blazing with fury, Emma angrily stood up from her desk and balled her fists in warning. "Mind your own business, Jimmy! I'm not even making one of those stupid clay things, and if I did it'd be better than yours!"

"Wait, how do you know she has a baby blanket?" another boy, Kevin asked, grinning.

"Oh, I see her with it all the time," Jimmy went on with a snicker. "She sits on her front porch hugging it and crying like a baby. I swear, it's probably all she ever does."

"Jimmy," Mrs. Price growled, "That is quite enough. Leave Emma alone and get back to work this instant."

Both kids were on a roll now. Like any normal children they had started a bantering war that probably wouldn't rest until there was some eye gauging and hair pulling. With Emma, the latter didn't take very long.

"You take that back!" the girl shouted at him, her voice screechy in rage as her hands began to shake. "TAKE IT BACK!"

The classmates all drew back in alarm at the sheer intensity to her voice. It was almost frightening. Jimmy's eyes widened as well, before they narrowed coldly as he snorted. "Is that why your parents got rid of you, Emma? Because of your temper?"

Mrs. Price didn't have time to act before Emma did as the girl gripped her ball of clay and violently thrust it into Jimmy's face. The child staggered back and howled, losing his footing and tripping over the desk. The legs of the structure rocked in the spot for a moment and sent more clay and supplies tumbling down beside and on the child.

Jimmy was crying, which Emma couldn't help but feel some satisfaction for, but she still backed up and swallowed hard as Mrs. Price hurriedly tended to the injured child.

Emma stood there as her fellow classmates shot her death glares while Mrs. Price applied an ice pack to Jimmy's head over at the sink. Emma set her jaw and hardened her expression. Jimmy deserved it; she didn't care if she had broken the brat's nose or his entire face.

Before Emma had a chance to say anything, Mrs. Price had angrily grabbed a hold of her arm and was yanking her down the hall, so quickly that Emma found herself tripping to keep up. Mrs. Price begun banging on the principal's door with one hand, and holding onto a squirming Emma with the other.

Mr. Tony answered the door, and he could immediately tell by the wriggling child desperately trying to get away, and the tired teacher, that something was wrong. Emma heard them murmur a few things, and the next thing she realized, Mrs. Price was nudging her to the door.

"Go on and see the principal, Emma. I have to get back to class." She let go of her hand, and the moment she did, Emma ran. "Emma!"

Emma could hear both the principal and teacher shouting behind her and pursuing her in heavy shoes, but she still ran. She shoved through the exit doors and bolted down the steps. The principal and teacher gave up trying to chase her and hurried to call her foster parents.

Emma hadn't even realized before that it was raining. Maybe if she did she would have thought to run back to her class, grab her jacket, and then proceed to run away from her teachers, from her problem, like the baby she knew she was. Like the baby everyone knew she was.

Her chest feeling like it was about to burst, Emma finally slowed to a stop at a slick, slippery corner at the end of the street. She gazed up at the foggy skies and sniffled. It only occured to her now that she had never been in this part of town. She had only moved here a couple of weeks ago, and what little travelling she did take was from her bus to her house.

Her sopping wet sneakers sloshing through the wet streets, Emma gave a piercing shriek as a crack of thunder split open the sky, and revealed a blinding streak of lighting to go with it. The panicked child ran as fast as she could, and tripped over the curb, going sprawling onto the sidewalk.

Emma started to cry, but she fought through the pain as bravely as she could and climbed to her feet again. Another clap of thunder had her running squealing into a shop ahead. The bell atop the door rang as she slammed it and slid down to a crouching position. Here, safe from the rain and having time to breathe, she started crying into her knees.

Emma didn't hear the footsteps, but she did hear the slightly mean voice of a man as he started walking into the room. "I'm sorry, but the shop is closed right now. It said it right there on the sign..." He trailed off as he stared at the weeping child.

Emma finally looked up through her tear blurred eyes and saw the man. She had never seen him before (of course, she did just move here); he had short, slightly golden-brown hair that nearly fell down to his shoulders. He wore a black suit turned up at the collar, and a purple tie. He was leaning on something-a cane, Emma realized.

"Who are you?" the girl sniffled.

"I should ask you the same thing," the man answered smoothly. He had a funny voice, Emma thought. "You're the one that nearly took off my door when you came in here." He watched her flush a little with shame. "What are you doing here, child?"

"I'm sorry," Emma whispered, "I didn't realize the store was closed. I-I didn't even really realize it was a store. I got scared by the thunder."

_Typical, just like most children..._ His own son hated the storms when he was about this child's age, and where they had lived, they didn't have a shelter nearly as good as this solid roof. "Well I suppose it would be mean of me to send you back in the rain, huh, little dearie?"

The little tyke looked up at him through watery, green eyes. If he didn't have such an immunity to children, he would definitely consider this little girl to be extremely precious. She cautiously stepped away from the door and walked around his shop, admiring all of the antiques.

"What is all this stuff?"

"Old antiques," he answered, turned away from her. He had a lot to do today and he didn't have time to coddle a child. "So how old are you, chi..." Turning to the girl, he trailed off, and his eyes became slightly wider at the sight of blood dripping down her skinned knee. "How did you get that?"

"I-I fell," Emma sniffled, wiping the tears from her eyes, only for more to flood from the pain. "I tripped when I was running. ...It hurts," she all but whimpered.

The humanity in him felt the slightest flicker of sympathy as he sighed and beckoned the child to follow him. "I would imagine, your knee is all scraped up."

It was then Emma decided to look down at her knee, and she cried out and stared in horror at the blood dripping. "O-oh no, I'm bleeding!" she cried, "Am I gonna die? What if I run out of blood?!"

He almost had to burst out laughing at that, but he managed to bite it back and only shook his head. Kids were so over dramatic at times. "Well, we don't want that to happen, now do we? So let's take care of that knee."

Emma followed him into his bathroom and looked around in wonder. Everything looked so pretty and expensive. "Your bath tub is shiny. You have a lot of shiny stuff."

"Yes, I'm like a crow," he answered her. He stared down as she stared back, blankly. "It's an expression." Blink. Blink. "...Never mind."

"What's your name?"

A beat. "Mr. Gold," he told her. She found it funny how that was his name and he had so many gold things in the store. He thought on asking the girl her name, but decided to just wait and let her tell him on her own.

"You have a funny voice."

He assumed she meant his accent, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was something he wondered himself, actually. He had a 'funny voice' as Rumpelstiltskin, but it seemed to have become more charming in this life. Honestly, he liked the old, chirping voice of the Dark One better. It frightened everyone, which made things twice as fun for him.

Without answering her, Mr. Gold opened one of his medicine cabinets and fished out a small bottle. He hiked the child's pant leg up slightly and drenched a piece of cotton ball in the liquid. Right before he moved to dab it on the girl's leg, she pulled away sharply. He frowned at her.

"I don't want the medicine," Emma whined as she sniffled and held her leg away from him, protectively. "Why can't you just put a band-aid on it? Band-aids don't hurt, but medicine does."

Luckily, being a father in the past gave him _some_ patience with children. "Child, we must clean out the cut. It will hurt more if we don't."

"No it won't!" she argued, "It's medicine that really makes it sting, and band-aids make cuts heal, so if we put a band-aid on the cut will be gone soon!" She crossed her arms and stuck her chin in the air, feeling victorious.

Mr. Gold watched this with a deadpan expression and quickly found himself smirking. If this didn't get the kid to take the medicine nothing would. "Oh, but something bad could happen if we don't clean it with medicine."

The assured look on the girl's face quickly began to fade as she glanced cautiously at him. "What...what will happen?" she whispered.

Mr. Gold cleared his throat and got into the character of Rumpelstiltskin. He truly loved the rare moments he got to play him. "Many things can happen, little dearie; you could suffer from blood poisoning, or a terrible disease."

He was pleased to note the seven year old's face seemed to have drained of all color as she looked at him. "I could?"

"Yes, indeed." He had a slight, almost sickly cheerful chirp to his voice and his eyes glinted with malice. "Bacteria could travel through your body, and the cut could get so infected you'd need to have your leg sawed off...with a big knife. Or else, flesh eating bugs could slowly devour your leg, and then the skin on the rest of your body."

The child only stared at him, not blinking, not speaking. Then she quickly shoved her leg towards him, eyes as wide as saucers.

Mr. Gold fought the urge to burst into laughter as he retrieved the medicine again. He still had his way with the kids.

* * *

The child had been at his shop for a few hours now, and the storm outside refused to cease its rampage for a second. At this rate, the kid would be with him until nightfall. That was an idea he wasn't the fondest about.

Emma was in one of his old chairs with a small plate of cookies he had given to her to keep her occupied while he worked. As he watched the seven year old chew at the treats and drop crumbs all over his clean floors, he found himself staring into her eyes. They were a deep green, and the most familiar eyes he had ever seen.

Emma looked back at him when she realized he was staring intently at her, and he snapped out of it and returned to sweeping.

Emma brushed the cookie crumbs off her hands and stood up. "You have a lot of really neat stuff here." Mr. Gold heard a few gentle clanging noises and turned to see the child was holding a golden fairy statue in her lap. "I've always liked fairytale stuff, 'cause it seems to be the only time I can be happy... is when I'm reading them."

Mr. Gold stared at her and found himself taking a few steps closer to the little girl. He knelt down beside her and gazed into her eyes. "...Mind telling me your name, child?"

Emma clutched the fairy statue close to her and gazed up at him cautiously. His face looked very serious all of a sudden. Emma hid her eyes behind the fairy statue for a moment, and peered back up at him. She had been told by many caretakers not to tell her name to strangers, but the man seemed kind enough (despite the medicine incident). Really, in a child's mindset, any man that gave out free cookies could be trusted.

"Emma."

For a moment it felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of him as he stared at the young girl. Yes, of course he knew there were millions of Emmas in this world, but he...he just _knew_ that she was her. She was _the_ Emma. She was Snow's daughter.

He quickly realized he hadn't said a word in a few minutes, and he was still staring at her, evidently freaking her out. "Emma," he murmured. A smile came to his face. "What a pretty name..." _Fit for a princess..._

"Thank you," Emma said shyly. Now he saw it all; the same white face, and the same flowing hair, despite the difference in color. He almost wanted to scream at the fitting sight of the girl hugging the fairy statue.

"The rain is starting to slow down...I think I should get you home, Emma." He didn't want her to go yet. There was a lot he wanted to talk about now that he knew who she was. Of course, at this time, there wasn't much he could say about what was destined to be her future.

Emma didn't look like she wanted to go home, but she walked over to the old table regardless to put the statue back. Mr. Gold's hand stopped her, and she looked questionably up at him.

"Keep it," he told her, "I have plenty of other statues in the shop, and a fairy statue is more meant for a little girl than it is for a cranky old man like me."

Emma giggled, but she said a grateful thank you and hugged the statue to herself again. She smiled up at him, and for a moment her look broke his heart. Those eyes still held such innocence, even with what he knew the orphan was going through. When he knew what was ahead for her in life just made the pang in his chest grow stronger.

"Can I see you again?" Emma asked shyly.

Mr. Gold had been hoping she would ask that. "...Yes." Placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, he guided her out of the shop with him.

* * *

_(I've been heavily inspired by some of my favorite fanfics on here; "Night Light", "Honor Thy Father", and "The Guardian", and I really wanted to do my own little take on Emma meeting Mr. Gold/Rumple at a tender age. I suppose this could be considered slightly AU since Mr. Gold obviously isn't in Storybrooke right now, but it's whatever you want to think._

_This fic will probably be very short, at only about five or six chapters. But then...that's what I said about "Broken Spirit" at first too. XD)  
_


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